Lethe's Fool
by E. Jane
Summary: Time and magic have refused to relinquish their hold on Sarah Williams, and when the past catches up to her, she learns that there are no such things as accidents. But after the tables turn, who will win this power play?
1. Attempted Murder

_I've waited a long time to post this story... Actually, if I'm going to tell the truth, it was started during the middle of _Limbo_. But I didn't want to jump into another story without finishing at least one of the two already in progress, and this one needed to have my full attention for some time._

_This is my favorite fanfic so far. It's a lot rounder, more full, than my others. I know this chapter is on the short side, but don't worry. This is more or less introductory material, and the plot really comes into things next chapter. The title can give away some information...I won't explain it, though, because where's the fun in that? You'll find out soon enough, if you return for more. And reviews are wonderful things...any writer will tell you as much. ;)_

_Below is a lovely little poem, very fitting, I thought, as a tribute to what our dear Goblin King must have felt after Sarah's victory. _

_He should be more careful what he wishes for._

_Hoping you like it,_

_E. Jane_

**Lethe**

Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,  
Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;  
I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time  
In the thickness of your heavy mane,

To bury my head, full of pain  
In your skirts redolent of your perfume,  
To inhale, as from a withered flower,  
The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.

I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!  
In a slumber doubtful as death,  
shall remorselessly cover with my kisses  
your lovely body polished like copper.

To bury my subdued sobbing  
Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,  
Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips  
And Lethe flows in your kisses.

My fate, hereafter my delight,  
I'll obey like one predestined;  
Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,  
Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.

I shall suck, to drown my rancor,  
Nepenthe and the good hemlock  
From the charming tips of those pointed breasts  
That have never guarded a heart.

— William Aggeler, _The Flowers of Evil_

I

Attempted Murder

"It wasn't _me_, Andrew!"

"For the love of God, Sarah!" he yelled back, heedless of the apartments down the hall. "It 'hasn't been you' the past three times!" Andrew shrugged his coat on over his boxers and pushed away her hand. "This place is fucking haunted, and you," he turned to her bedraggled form, "are just a little bit insane. I will not continue to live with a woman who torments me in my sleep!"

Recoiling as if stung, Sarah shook her head. "Andrew, wait, please," she pleaded, choking on her tears. A few errant hairs were plastered to the salty tracks. "You have to believe me! I would never hurt you!" She scrambled to the door and tried to keep herself between it and her boyfriend. He brushed her willowy frame aside with hardly any effort. A laughable obstacle.

"How am I supposed to explain these, then?" His tone was part incredulous, part drunk with remnants of sleep. He yanked down the collar of his coat to reveal a set of fingerprints, positioned fatally around his throat, already bruising like thin shadows. Sarah did not bother to point out how tiny they were, much smaller than her delicate hands, or that there seemed to be six fingers instead of five. "I should have left the first time," he spat. "But some part of me was so caught up in you, I wrote it off as your nightmares." His eyes held a flicker of regret. The emotion died from his face too quickly. Sarah watched, tears cold on her cheeks, unable to utter any kind of plea. "I'll send someone for my things tomorrow." The door closed behind him with a snap.

Her door received an all too familiar stare. She had given it the same helpless look after Brian, Jack, and Max had all stormed out in a similar fashion, with similar causes. As if it could do anything.

After so many boyfriends and lovers, so many farcical heartaches, Sarah was numb to the cyclical course her love life had taken. Some terribly intimate, and yet strangely unsatisfying, encounter would conclude only for her partner to claim abuse. Usually they fled immediately. Her emotional state had degraded to the point of crippling her mental stability, and Sarah had become a quiet and inclusive testament to her strangeness. Curling beneath the covers and waiting for morning, pretending that they would return and she would be forgiven, was her instinctive reaction, but tonight something halted her.

Anger.

It wasn't fair...so _damn_ unfair, that all her chances for happiness had suffered irreparable damage. She was so careful in her selection for confidants in the first place. Someone to share her heart with, to lean on, to care for... So what if that stupid, irrational spark of love had never flared in the pit of her stomach? Who needed it? Nothing mattered more in that moment than her congealing sense of robbery and self pity.

Anger.

With the new, raw emotion licking in her veins she raced to recover her materials. Tonight would be the night she had both dreaded and longed for...the night when she called them out. For thirteen years Sarah had ignored the calculated incidents in her homes. Only when the problems had followed and persisted, detailing several harried, fruitless attempts at relocation, had she considered goblins. Shadows had rippled on the edge of her vision before some minor catastrophe. The wind sighed endlessly to her of frosty promises. Winks of light toyed with the fragile veil between the worlds, and Sarah knew that it thinned with every thump of her pulse. The random escalation in mischief around her should have been a dead giveaway, but others merely deemed her unlucky.

The girl knew better. Much better. All along some understanding had ridden, carefully sheltered, in the recesses of her mind. She had touched magic, breathed it, lived it for a scant handful of hours. She was tainted, and it was not about to let her go.

Finally she had enough of a handful to begin. A wide circle of salt enclosed the bed along with a sprinkling of herbs. The holy water, legitimate or not, she scattered over her sheets and the window sill. Her friends and boyfriends had affectionately deemed these little oddities superstition. Outwardly she let them tease and taunt her silly imagination, but inwardly she felt a smattering of protection. The barriers, though small, she only constructed on occasions when she felt threatened, or the goblin devilry had amplified. Provoking them tonight was beyond reason for caution.

Last she slid on her ring, the iron one, and braced herself in the middle of the bed like a warrior. Her blood was singing, trying to drown out her anger and replace it with fear. Something irrationally vindictive was damming the flow of unease.

"You little pests...show yourselves!" she hissed, aware that enough noise had been caused that night. "I know you're here, and so help me God, I will find you out and—"

Little squeals and giggles of mirth erupted from behind furniture, under the bed, in the shadows. Thinks slunk forth and were gone again when she blinked. Even the air had changed, laden with the scent of stormy rain. She knew for a fact that the night outside was clear, and that the jilts of electricity pricking her skin were not from lightning. Something far more volatile stirred in her room.

"Show yourselves!" she commanded again, brandishing the tiny bottle of holy water. "I demand that you leave me the hell alone and go back to where you came from. Back to your precious _king_." The last word escaped as a snarl. "I won't have anything more to do with this," she choked, her pitch rising slightly. "I am _done_ with that life! Now go!"

"I beg to differ," whispered a cultured voice. The goblins sniggered and slammed a few drawers.

Sarah's eyes widened involuntarily, but she gripped the ring tightly in a fist. _God, no..._

"It is rather conceited of you to assume that they will follow your orders, instead of mine," he continued. She spun around on the bed, trying to locate him. The silky sneer was coming from every direction. "You always were brash, though."

"Show yourself, Goblin King! I want to send you to hell," she spat in a sudden flare of rage, "then get on with my life!"

A shadow, much deeper than the others, shifted beside the window. He pulled himself from the dark amidst the gleeful mumbles of his subjects. If she hadn't known any better, Sarah would have thought that he was unfurling from a satisfied slouch, as if he had been viewing her antics for some time.

"Done? Why, Sarah." The Goblin King's lithe form glided into the light of the window. Outside the street lamp dusted his hair a stark white, serving as a crude spotlight. "We have only just begun." He paused to pull an orb from the air, rolling it along the back of his hand effortlessly. "How interesting that tonight you should call out to my world and its inhabitants, when I had planned on calling anyway. Convenient," he nodded in her direction, teeth sparkling like shards of glass.

Sarah schooled her face to combat the rising anger. She would not fall for his tricks of pretty illusions and promises. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be here...the goblins had been her main priority. But, she reasoned, the creatures were dense and needed someone to pull the strings. How like him to orchestrate the whole thing and leave her steeped in confusion, only to sit back and enjoy the show.

She seethed.

"Get out."

He ceased the crystal's hypnotic motions with a jerk. "You are in no position to make demands tonight, Sarah," he drawled, voice laced with impatience. "You will listen, and then obey without question."

She snorted. Couldn't he see that she had the upper hand tonight? No matter that he had managed to get into her rooms...he wouldn't be able to lay a gloved finger on her. With a toss of her hand the holy water went spraying in every direction, peppering his dark outfit with moisture.

An amused look consumed his face before he strode toward the bed. Sarah backed to the headboard and a strangled wail of disbelief trickled from her mouth. "You can't do that!" she cried, watching him step resolutely inside the salt and herb circle, perfectly unharmed.

"I just did," he smiled wickedly. His eyes flashed with delight when she slumped, realizing that she had backed herself into a corner. With one swift movement he grabbed the vial from her hand, and Sarah watched, terrified, as he tilted it towards his mouth and emptied it. "Pure holy water," he nodded. Critical eyes inspected the simple container. "Terribly real, and yet...ineffective." He remained at the foot of the bed regarding her, barely moving, as he flung the vial behind him where it tinkled into a million pieces.

"Leave me alone," Sarah demanded hoarsely. It was the best she could conjure with no magic, no friends, and no means of defense. Her tongue would have to substitute for a weapon. "Why do you have to screw with my life like this?" Immediately she regretted her wording as he leapt onto the bed, graceful as a cat, and stood boot-to-toe with her.

"What life?" His tone had clenched from mocking to cold fury. It startled her to see a chink of his ageless, invincible mask slip away. Before she could place the naked emotions on his face they were gone, concealed by the hungry, secretive smile that twisted his lips. "You mean your pretty little suitors?" The laugh that followed held no mirth. "Did you honestly think that I would allow another to claim what is _mine_?"

"Yours," she hissed, eyeing the bureau to her left. A bubble of hope was expanding inside her chest, but she was careful that he did not notice it. The top drawer was slightly ajar where Andrew had pulled out his boxers minutes before. If she could reach inside...

"Yes," he purred, tilting his head to the side. His half lidded stare and feathery breath might have appeared wistful to her, had she looked. "You've belonged to me thirteen years and I've been unable to reach you. Such torment, but Underground prisons are impossible to escape. Even for me."

That halted her slow, labored movements toward the drawer. "Prison?"

"The High King does not take kindly to mortal escapists," was the growled response. "I received a just punishment of imprisonment for letting something precious slip through my fingers. But," he smiled hugely, "the sentence is up, and I am here. To redeem myself."

Sarah was inches now from the drawer. While this news was certainly startling, and worthy of her attention, she had only been listening with half an ear. For him to realize that could prove disastrous, so she decided it would be in her best interest to keep the conversation flowing. "And just how do you plan on managing that?"

"Tsk tsk," he sighed, although the disappointment in his tone was light and mocking. "Older, but not so much wiser. Little girl, can't you put two and two together? You are coming with me," he said, twirling the crystal briefly. "And then you will help me retrieve what is mine."

"Possessive much?" she snorted. It was strange that only hours ago Sarah had been docile and quiet. This man, this...creature...could always provoke the fire in her. Any other man would have made her silent in fury, but not the Goblin King. Oh, no. Never, ever would he receive the satisfaction of her submission. Her hand rested on the bureau drawer, and he hadn't even seemed to notice her careful movements. "Why do you think I would ever help you?"

His lips curled up into a sneer. "I am not giving you a choice."

She plunged her hand into the drawer during his boast, fist tightening around the gun and yanking it from its resting place. Andrew wasn't a very good police officer, she mused, to stalk out into the night without his gun on him. Sarah whipped it around to the king's face, cocking it in a lucky fumble.

"And my name is _not_ little girl."

The Goblin King looked immensely entertained by her feigned bravery. "What about 'precious thing?'" He swatted at the gun easily and it wavered, but Sarah did not drop it to the floor. Instead she grasped it between both hands and pointed it squarely between his eyes. "Are you going to kill me, precious thing? Blow me away, and what then?" A soft chuckle caused gooseflesh to ripple down the length of her arms.

"I don't give a shit what happens to you when you're dead," she managed with a dry mouth. "But I promise that I'll pull this trigger right now if you don't _get out_."

For a moment he analyzed the crystal cupped in his palm. "This would have proved far simpler thirteen years ago. You were innocent and delicate," he sighed, choosing to study her over the weapon, "headstrong. And so perfect. But you really should not make promises that can't be kept."

Her heart was pounding blood to her brain so forcefully that it was becoming hard to hear. One would think that the gun had been pointed at Sarah herself. If nothing else, it irked her to find that his confidence overrode his fear, and the knowledge that she could never, not in a million years, shoot that gun. That he could laugh in the face of death when she crumbled. Before she formulated a reply the Goblin King had jumped from the bed to stand beside the window, his back to her. "Put it down, precious thing. Time is fleeting." Goblins began moving out of the shadows, hairy ones and leathery ones, horned and spiked, fat and thin. "The Goblin Kingdom awaits the return of its rightful ruler."

Sarah could not believe the force of the gun in her hand when she pulled the trigger. It rocketed up her arm and exploded sound into her ears. Mouth agape, she watched through the haze as the goblins stilled, and their king swayed. The bullet had hit him in the back, her amateur aim lucky. He caught himself with the window sill, dropped the crystal, and she lowered the gun shakily, waiting for him to hit the ground with a sickening thud.

The blood drained from her face as he continued to slump. _Oh my God._ She looked to her hand and threw the weapon to the floor as if it were a snake. _I just...just...killed..._

All of his minions were in a frenzy now, dashing around their king and the bed in a sea of grotesque figures. He was clutching at his chest opposite the entry wound and heaving strained, ragged breaths. Nothing remained of his form but a hunched swath of black, his wild mane drooped into the folds of his cloak.

Noises were stirring outside in the hall. Lights burst to life. People were awake. And then there was a pounding on the door.

"Sarah! Jesus, Sarah, open up! Oh God, no, no!" Andrew wailed. He was apparently flinging himself against the door with the full weight of his body, trying to break it down. "Sarah, can you hear me? Fuck!" The wood began to splinter a little.

She was frozen in place on the bed, which was fast proving inadequate to support her gelatinous legs. He'd assumed she'd committed suicide, she thought, vomit threatening to creep up her throat. Andrew continued to bang on the door, wailing apologies, while others attempted to break off the handle, hinges, everything. But they couldn't come in, not while all these—

The Goblin King walked to the gun, picked it up, and pointed it at the door. "I told you not to make promises you could not keep." His eyes were hollow, shadowed voids in his face.

"I killed you!" she screamed, forgetting the others outside. Her flip-flopping denial was making her sick. _She couldn't have killed him... He couldn't be alive..._ "Why didn't you die?!"

"Sarah!" Andrew's voice was muffled through the wood. "Thank God! Open this door! Let me in, Sarah, I'm so sorry—"

"You are going to come with me," the Goblin King announced smoothly. His posture was taught like a bow, regal, and not a stain dripped from his wound. "I may not be able to die." With a menacing gesture he waved the gun toward the door again. "But he can."

Her legs threatened to buckle. "Don't you dare!" He took a step towards the door. "No!"

"Yes," he spat, taking another step. "I should kill him this instant, for that little stunt. But I am being generous, Sarah. Far more generous than last time. Come with me and the mortal fool will remain unscathed." His tirade had grown softer with each word, but held no less venom.

She only hesitated another moment before chunks of wood started flying from the door. Apparently there was a whole crew outside now, banging something heavy into it. As soon as the door was free everyone would represent a clear target. Sarah swallowed unsteadily, then stepped down from the bed.

"Good," he nodded with mock praise. "Now go to the window and open it up." Her hateful stare met his unrelenting one as she obliged, and the gun held its position in his steady gloved hand. Seeing the king perfectly sound, the goblins scattered about and vanished noiselessly. "Sit on the sill."

The apartment was on the fourth story up, overlooking a dirty alley where a few cars were parked. Dumpsters and debris made for an unsightly view downward, while cracked brick covered the building opposite, the windows dark and silent in the night. Light from the street lamp blanketed her sorry living conditions in a sickly glow. Sarah sat carefully on the sill, just barely, and clutched the frame on either side of her with white knuckles. Wisps of night air tickled her robed back, suddenly vulnerable to the world outside. If she were to fall, death would be a messy affair.

He took slow steps to the window, dark eyes concentrated on the girl. There was no hurry, no need to rush. Gun still aimed for the door, he had every bit of control. The Goblin King took his sweet time tossing the weapon onto the rumpled bed covers. Even as more door fell away he continued to stalk, rather than hasten, across the room. Sarah realized with ill timing that he was making a hard, strong point.

_No escape._

Faint clicks on the hardwood floor matched the rhythm of her breath before falling out of place. When they stopped she dared to look up from her lap, and found that he had halted his booted stride before her. Squarely he planted his black fists on solid hips, so close that his dark cape of tatters tickled the backs of her knees. It was either fall backwards to certain death, or forwards into shadowed arms.

"I would think an attempt on my life would require an equally devious punishment." His mouth was set in a firm, grim line. Sarah's blood chilled. After a moment of contemplation he grinned, and color flooded his thin lips again. "But such a daring spirit is your best quality. For that, I cannot blame you." A faint twitch of his lips knotted her stomach. There was a bit of cold humor within, and...victory. "And now it is time to go. Hold on to me."

She watched in horror as he braced both hands on either side of the window. He was close, too close, on the brink of pushing her out, and towering tall enough that she had to crane her neck for a glimpse of his face. A loud crack from across the room nearly startled her from the precarious perch. The door was almost down.

"Remember, precious thing," he warned in a whisper. "There are several bullets in that gun, and I will get to it before you." An answering crack of wood was his only response. "Or perhaps we should forego mortal methods, and see what my magic can do..."

The edge to his voice was wretched. Grudgingly Sarah uncurled her fingers from the window frame, where they had left tiny imprints of her nails, and loosely draped her arms about his hips. "Bastard." With the only ounce of power she had preserved, she touched as little of him as possible. Still her skin brushed delicious fragments of silk, whispers of velvet, delicate stitching...

Her compliance was rewarded with a smug grin and one of his sinuous, gloved hands entangling in the hairs at the nape of her neck. In misery she found her face firmly anchored to his chest, where even more decadent fabric lay—leather—and the spicy scent of magic.

"Wait until we are back home to unleash that wicked tongue, lovely," he purred as the door gave way. "It dishonors your pretty mouth in front of company."

He sprang, launching himself out of the window and pulling her into a fierce dive. Sarah shamed the banshees with her screech as she tipped backwards, reflexively tightening her arms about his chest, becoming swallowed in the folds of his cloak. Their heads were rushing down towards terribly solid pavement, and for an instant she was transfixed by the thought that one moment she would be alive and the next...

Something in her shifted. The scream became a frantic squeak and they were ghosting up. Below them the city began to fall away at a rapid pace, and she spotted Andrew leaning out of the window in shock. He appeared to mouth her name, for she could hear nothing but whistling wind, and stretched out his hand as if to bring her back. Something twinkled in his palm, round and smooth, as he watched the snowy owl fly towards the moon with a mouse clutched tightly in its claws.


	2. Deny Me

II

Deny Me

The owl tilted its wings at a soft angle, teasing the wind to fall around it just so, and the bird executed a perfect, swooping cartwheel in the sky. The rodent buried deeply within the talons shrieked as if pierced, though the knife-like weapons that were curled about it only served as a cage. Up and down ceased to exist in the spin. Around them the heavens and earth tilted, vanished, and then rushed up to meet them as the bird descended.

She felt her body ripple and change. With a detached sort of interest she noted the way it felt like being turned inside-out, and Sarah hit the ground very human and not at all a mouse. She smelled rather than saw the cool dirt and grass, heard the whispering of trees as leaves brushed against each other. Felt the nearness of two booted feet uncomfortably close to her nose. But she refused to look and acknowledge the reality of her situation.

"My, my. Does flight disagree with you, my dear? What a shame. I have been...careless towards your needs."

Annoyance twinged painfully in a dark corner of her mind. He didn't sound sorry. He didn't sound apologetic _at all_...

Not that she expected him to be.

"Get up, Sarah." Whatever hint of humor that might have survived was quashed in his tone. "There is no time to waste being sullen."

The niggling part of her that bristled at his superiority complex drowned itself in uncertainty. Maybe if she pretended not to breathe he would think her dead and leave. She squeezed her eyes together harder, if that was possible, and ignored the lingering taste of magic in her mouth, like crisp autumn air.

A pregnant pause weighted on her ears. Perhaps he had not spoken at all. Perhaps she was only cold because she had left the window open, and Andrew was indulging in a midnight snack down the hall. That was it... The exquisitely chilling tone above her was a manifestation of dead, long buried memories...

"Sarah..."

But the creaking of boots, swish of heavy material, and whisper in her ear were real.

Tendrils of hot breath made her flinch, betraying her game of opossum. Slight pressure was all the warning she received before a sense of weightlessness enveloped her, and Sarah was aware that her body had left the dewy ground completely. Unnerved, she choked on a cry and opened her eyes, only to find the Goblin King several feet away, waving a hand absentmindedly in her direction. Blinking back her confusion, she alighted on shaky feet and took a moment to steady herself. As he lowered his gloved hand the pulsing pressure retreated, and her limbs felt leaden with the old weight.

"I advise you not to run," he was saying, turning in a slow circle to evaluate their landing spot. The clearing, Sarah saw, was a small patch inside a thick wood, the trees large and closely clustered, and what little space between them was filled with shadow. Only the pale moon offered any light, making dappled patterns on the ground. "The creatures in this forest are not as friendly as you remember. And if they do not find you," he continued, turning unnaturally bright eyes her way, "I will."

Sarah hugged her arms tightly in the chill and watched white puffs of air escape her mouth. Current predicament be damned...another fear was enveloping her innate sense of preservation.

"You can't have him."

The Goblin King halted his thoughtful stride. He seemed to freeze there in time and space, only his wavering garments and feathered hair contradictions to the stony countenance. Her toes curled, anticipating a fiery reprisal. When none came the tension continued to crackle.

"I won him back," she rambled on, "fair and square." Something was compelling her to remind him of things he knew all too well. "You can't touch him. Because," she sucked in a mouthful of air, "you have no power over me!"

The result was instantaneous. Between one blink and the next her captor had vanished, leaving only broken moonbeams in her wake. With relief Sarah dropped her arms and allowed a whimper of repressed worry to escape. Dumbfounded, her luck almost too much to bear, Sarah worked the chill air into her lungs. She was free, for the time being, and needed to devise a way home before he—

"Foolish girl."

The growl in her hair was accompanied by a quick snatch of her wrists and a twist, effectively pinning her hands behind her back. Sarah yelped in surprise and jerked her shoulders to no avail.

"Did you think pretty words would save you a second time?"

Like a trapped, terrified animal she struggled uselessly. God, he was strong... With little effort he managed to secure both wrists in one gloved hand. She only halted the fight when the other arm wrapped around her chest.

"Go on," she panted, frustrated and no longer cold after her wriggling.

Another moment of silence, and her nerves were practically unraveling. She did not like the way his body heat was pulsing around her, seemingly unaffected by the icy air, or the tightening arm that closed the space between them. Every ragged breath she took caused her chest to expand against his iron embrace.

"Go on...what?" came his purr. "Tell me, dear Sarah," he continued and flexed the fingers encasing her wrists, "what you _want_."

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, plagued by millions of traitorous visions. _He's manipulating me_, she thought, _just like before_. They had already played this game, and Sarah regretted to find that, like all those years ago, his effect on her was disconcerting. Though his approach was more forward, more dangerous, the results were no different. This living thing inside of her, foreign and alarming, was something she'd been searching for all her life.

She'd never found it in even her most intimate of companions. Why it chose now, of all times, to surface made Sarah want to turn to ash and blow away.

And, just like before, Sarah was ashamed of her self-betrayal and did the only thing she could think of. "Take whatever sick, twisted revenge you've been planning for the last thirteen years," she spat. A lump had thickened in her throat, but she swallowed it and pressed on. "Do what you want with me. Just..." For a split second her voice quavered. "Not Toby." Sagging, ignoring the pain it caused her arms, Sarah resigned herself to whatever punishment the king would exact.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled when she felt the growl radiating from his chest into her back, so deep that he actually shook. It wasn't until he buried his face into her tangled hair that Sarah realized he was _laughing_. Laughing a cold, deep rumble that emanated from the back of his throat.

"Ah, precious thing," he sighed in the remnants of a chuckle, "your brother can never return. He is not a part of this world." She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"Neither am I!" Sarah retaliated, jerking upright. "I don't belong here! I belong back home, with—"

This time it was a true growl that cut her tirade short. "Mortal scum and stale air? Oh, no, my girl. I know you too well to believe that." She wished desperately to see his face, to read what thoughts were flitting there, but she was still bound fast to him. "Could you survive the remainder of your life without a hint of magic? Waste away into a cold, shriveled shell?"

She didn't answer, momentarily repulsed by the image he had painted for her. The truth was that Sarah had been trying. For years and years she had put all of her effort into forgetting the Underground, leaving it behind in childhood, where it belonged. There had been an inexplicable loss of contact between her few friends, which had seemed to be the natural course of things. That wasn't to say her efforts had necessarily been easy, or rewarded, especially as of late.

But, she argued inwardly, she had _changed_. Really and truly made the effort to grow up from the spoiled, selfish brat she had been. Demanding, overindulgent, self-absorbed. She had put aside her fantasies in favor of the real world, which was at least stable, if not exciting. It wasn't that Sarah did not need magic in her life. No... Sarah did not _want_ magic in her life. Or anything connected to it.

Obviously frustrated by her silence, the Goblin King released her with a shove. Sarah stumbled for a moment on her bare feet, and then looked up sharply. He was circling her.

"Abandon whatever plans for escape you have brewing, precious," he frowned. "This world is a formidable place, not at all like your little fantasy thirteen years ago. Events have been set in motion by your own hand, and you must face the outcome. Your existence Aboveground is over."

Nothing was making sense, but Sarah knew it was simply the way of the Underground. The Goblin King delighted in cryptic riddles. Silently she fumed, watching him watching her. From beneath a shadow his mismatched, crystalline eyes twinkled, jolting a fragment of conversation to the forefront of her mind. Something she had overlooked.

"_You've belonged to me thirteen years and I've been unable to reach you. Such torment, but Underground prisons are impossible to escape. Even for me._"

Critically her gaze swept the length of him, from booted toe to wild mane. What she found shocked her previously unshakable tenacity.

The billowing cloak was tatters of its former self. When the breeze blew it, Sarah caught snatches of faded and creased leather beneath. The twinkle of a golden pendant was absent from within the folds of his elegant shirt, tatty and torn. The boots that hugged his calves were scuffed and flaking with age, and his breeches no longer appeared soft and smooth. Following her gaze, he crossed his arms with a scowl, wrapping himself in the cloak as if in torn wings.

"What..." She hadn't meant to speak, but decided to finish what had escaped her. "What happened to you?"

At first she thought he was going to ignore her. The shadows only half covered his face, making the sharp angles and planes severe in the contrasting moonlight.

"Happened?" he barked suddenly, making her flinch. Immediately she hated herself for it. "_You_ happened to me, precious thing." Continuing to circle her, scrutinizing her face from every angle, he wound the path tighter and tighter, spiraling inward. Sarah turned with him, trying her best to keep his movements in sight. "I gave you everything you wanted, and more..." Shaking his head, he halted with a jerk, inches away. "But you refused everything I offered and plummeted my world into something sinister." Now he was close enough to touch her face, but withheld. His eyes were haunted. "You refused your dreams, and mine. It is time you saw the consequences of your actions and set things right."

With a steely calm she did not feel, Sarah shook her head. When had his mockery been replaced by bitterness? "Whatever mess you've gotten yourself into, I had no part in it. I played by your rules. You screwed yourself over, Goblin King," she pointed boldly at him, "and I'll be damned before I contribute to any more of your schemes."

The slow grin that slashed his face in two was far worse than any other reaction she had looked for.

He shook his head and chuckled, watching her out of the corner of his eye like a bird. "You still do not understand...there's no choice at all in the matter. You have eaten of my fruit and are bound to me. Our fates are hopelessly tangled."

A dreadful, slimy thing was uncurling in her stomach. Fruit. He looked as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"That peach had a maggot in it," she remembered aloud.

He turned his face to the moon and closed his eyes briefly, seeming to drink in the sharp wind that touched his face. "No dream is perfect."

The silence became smothering, thick. There was no place to run in the dark, and if there were creatures as frightening as he claimed, then she would be doomed for acting so recklessly. She closed her eyes as he came forward, boots making muffled swishes in the grass, and placed a hand on her arm.

Her stomach lurched unnaturally and she tasted magic again. When his hand left she opened her eyes. And screamed.

They were standing atop a jutting piece of rock that left a fall countless feet into a bottomless pit. The Goblin King slapped a gloved hand over her mouth and restrained her waist with the other arm. "Shh, precious thing. No need to alert them of our coming so soon. Look past the fall." She did, over the gaping maw to the woods beyond. Even farther than that was a tiny dry spot of land, desert-like, and...

"The Labyrinth!" Her exclamation was no more than a sharp inhalation of air and mumbled syllables against his glove. The twisting, snaking structure was there, but...different. Sarah frowned as she clamped her hands over his arm, simultaneously trying to break free and cling to the only support preventing her fall.

Instead of dusty brick outer walls and a castle of slender towers, spiky black ornaments clawed at the stars. Vaguely they reminded her of spines on the back of a slick, scaly serpent. It was wicked and cruel and nothing like _her_ Labyrinth. In the heart of the maze, dark shadows—razor-like shapes resembling curved beaks, talons, and fangs—sat the Castle Beyond the Goblin City. It looked to be draped completely in black stone, eerily reflecting the moonlight.

Something in her ached.

"See what your actions of goodwill have done?" he sighed into her hair. "I told you the High King was displeased with me. My failure dishonored him so thoroughly that my title has been passed on already, and the Labyrinth's inhabitants suffer. The goblins still obey my commands, of course," he smiled, "because the Bog of Eternal Stench was preferable to today's standard of impalement." Sarah felt the blood drain away from her face rapidly.

"And you think that somehow I'm going to fix all of this?" she breathed. It was a miracle that he could understand her through the leather.

"No," he whispered, letting his thumb trace the corner of her lips, "I _know_ you will." Carefully he began backing away, dropping the hand from her mouth to join his other around her waist. "I believe you've seen enough." They inched away from the drop.

She tried to wrench out of his arms, and then simply turn to face him, but he wasn't having it. "Let go of me, Goblin King! I can walk on my own."

"Not until you swear your allegiance to me," he whispered against the shell of her ear. Frosted hair trickled over her shoulder and the crook of her neck, evoking painful cold chills. "You've seen the damage to the Labyrinth itself, but not its denizens. Don't you wonder about the fate of your..._friends_?"

The sneer rang in her ears, but she didn't wonder at his change of tone. They had chosen to stop coming, and she hadn't questioned it. All these long years she had thought...

Her breath quickened, and she allowed her nails to dig into the arm restraining her.

"Where are they?"

"Maybe they are here, maybe they are there..." he laughed. "Maybe...they are nowhere."

Sarah was close to a breaking point, but only growled in frustration. The cheating, deceitful, conniving—

His grip tightened slightly, rising higher and pressing her more firmly into him. She felt the air shift marginally around their still forms, and knew the games were over. "Swear to aid me, and I will tell you their whereabouts. Once the High King is notified of your recovery, all will be forgiven." Sarah's breath hitched at his mouth moving against her cheek. His hold was so consuming that his cloak had whipped around them both, paper-thin strips of torn night, and her heart was convulsing in her chest from the heady aroma she inhaled. Distantly she felt the sweep of his lashes over her skin. "Just fear me, love me, do as I say—"

A strangled noise slipped from her mouth as she flung up her hand and spun around in the circle of his arms. Her fingers collided solidly against his temple, a loud smack echoing into the woods and down the steep, rocky fall. The Goblin King's eyes dilated, flashing in pain, and he staggered back from her. A grimace contorted his mouth as his hand flew to his head where a bruise had already begun to blossom. He pulled his fingers away red. "What...have you done..." Sarah looked with alarm at her hand, and the iron ring glinting on her finger. When she glanced up again, he was staring at her in a kind of horrified wonder. "Sarah..."

He fell to the ground in a tangled heap of black, and the moon disappeared behind a thick cloud.

She was alone. Alone, and clad in a thin silk robe on the edge of a cliff with an unconscious, possibly deceased, Goblin King. Panic was creeping up her throat like bile. It had been a shock the first time she had thought she'd killed him. The second time was almost unbearable, and would undoubtedly come with terrifying repercussions. She backed away several feet, aware that he never stirred. If someone were to find her here, with the body... Though her guts churned, she decided to take the only action she deemed safe.

Shakily she turned away from the king's lax form and toward the woods, hissing as quietly as she could, "Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, I need you!"

The bitter wind threw her long hair into her face mockingly. Nothing. Her breath was becoming more and more shallow with each passing second, and she began a weak chant of, "Oh, please, please..." Arms about her shoulders again, suddenly very cold without the Goblin King's restricting embrace, she spun on the spot. It hadn't worked. Either her friends were impossible to call without a mirror, or they were holding a grudge. Sarah couldn't really blame them.

A twig snapped behind her and she flinched. There was no place to run except off of the cliff.

Without warning a large, shaggy shadow bounded from the underbrush, rattling leaves and debris as it crashed toward her. She scuttled away, trapped between the beast and the Goblin King, beyond screaming. _I'm only getting what I deserve_, she moaned inwardly. _A life for a life_.

She shut her eyes.

"My lady!"

She did jump, if not scream, and opened her eyes at the slobbery, warm touch on her hand. Below her was a comical pair, the dog snuffling and licking one of her hands and the other, a fox, brandishing his long spear and calling behind him, "I have found her!"

Sarah choked on her repressed sobs as she knelt and flung herself at her companions. "Didymus, my God, I was so scared..." Nothing much afterwards was audible, but she did hear the knight encouraging her a bit awkwardly. It seemed chivalry had not accounted for any damsels in distress of Sarah's nature.

"Sawah!"

"Sarah!"

She raised her grimy face from Ambrosious' fur to the dwarf and towering beast behind the knight. They both looked pleased, if a little confused, and, in Hoggle's case, a trifle disgruntled. "Hoggle! Ludo! You came, oh, you came!" Ludo swept her up into his crushing arms before she got any further. Still she managed to strangle out a few apologies for all of the years lost between them.

"My lady has returned Underground!" Didymus proclaimed. "What an honor! I shall provide full protection as long as you remain—"

"How'd ya get down here?" Hoggle interrupted sourly. He looked her up and down, scrutinizing the changes thirteen years apart had wrought. In the end he was apparently satisfied that it was still the same Sarah he had known. "'s too dangerous for ya! What if Jar—"

"Your majesty!" Didymus jumped from Ambrosious and skittered over to the still form that was the Goblin King, who looked no more than a crumpled bird shot down in flight, his shredded wings splayed around him. He turned to Sarah with wide eyes. "Fair maiden, what battle raged here?"

She shook her head guiltily. "No...no battle. It was...I...he was trying to..."

_Frighten you_.

_Distract you_.

_Anger you_.

_Come within an inch of kissing the life right out of you_.

"Brother, come hither and assist me!" Ludo lumbered over to Didymus, who was crouched beside the king. "Lift him up. We must take him, for it is no longer safe in this region of the kingdom."

Sarah glanced in disbelief between the three. The dwarf looked rather pinched, not only at the sight of his monarch, but at the fact that he and Sarah had been together. His leathery skin had taken on an ill pallor, as if he was imagining what the king would do to him later. Perhaps craft a fine pair of dwarf-skin boots.

"You can't be serious!" she spluttered at Didymus' suggestion. Ludo halted his movement halfway to the ground. "He kidnapped me and can rot here for all I care!"

Beside her Hoggle squirmed, clearly waging some internal battle. Finally he sighed and swiped a gnarled hand across his brow. "Sarah, don't ya understand?" She shook her head, watching the knight give his brother instructions on lifting their king. "We're outcasts now, been runnin' for thirteen years." Her face snapped back to the dwarf.

"What?"

"Ever since 'is majesty was dethroned, the Labyrinth's been a livin' hell," he fidgeted. In dismay Sarah noticed that his bundle of jewels was missing from his belt. "All three of us were tah be tried for treason under the new law. For assistin' ya. D-death as the penalty." He opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if tasting something vile.

"Death?" Her knees finally gave out after the long night, and she plopped unceremoniously on the ground, eye to eye with Hoggle. "He said...said someone else ruled the Labyrinth now."

Nodding with troubled eyes, Hoggle grumbled, "Jareth may've been a rat, but Abbaron's a tyrant. Some that lived in the Labyrinth's walls've already been..."

Fresh tears were rolling unnoticed down her cheeks. "No. Tell me you're lying." He shook his head again.

"We's been on the run and in hidnin' while he's been locked up. Thought maybe things would go back tah normal once he got out, so many are still loyal to 'im. Could have a full uprisin'," he nodded.

"It is true, sweet lady," Didymus said as he scrambled back atop Ambrosious. Ludo followed behind, cradling Jareth in his arms. Jareth, that was his name... He looked no more than an ethereal rag doll at the moment. "We three are proud members of the rebellion!"

"Rebellion?" She stood on uncertain legs, having trouble grasping all the information being thrown her way. It was weird enough for her friends to accept her back into the Underground so easily, as if she had never left. They hadn't even asked after an explanation.

Hoggle took her hand quietly. "'s not safe here, Sarah. We'll tell ya back at camp." She did not miss the worried looks he threw to the forest.

"Camp? Wait! Where are we going?" She believed, with single-minded determination, that she could trust her friends with her life, but this was all too surreal. They didn't answer, so Sarah allowed Hoggle to lead her into the darkness of the trees.

The troupe walked for a time in silence, pressing farther and farther into the wood. She was glad to have escaped the cliff and the sight of the new, hideously transformed Labyrinth, but the forest was hardly better. Overhead the trees had coalesced, forming a knotted canopy draped with mosses. Though she could not see very well, Sarah sensed slimy tendrils and other foreboding fauna in the chill and damp atmosphere. Fog clung to her bare ankles and moistened the hem of her short robe.

Didymus, who boasted a keen sense of sight in his good eye, even in darkness, led with Ambrosious. Hoggle and Sarah followed, both keeping a fair amount of distance between themselves and Ludo in the rear, who shouldered the task of carrying the wounded king. They traveled at a fast clip.

"Hurry my comrades, or his majesty will not see the morrow!" Didymus whispered.

So he was still alive. Sarah didn't know if she should feel regret or relief for not killing him properly. She wanted rid of him, to be sure, but in no way desired to be seen as a murderess. If she hadn't needed answers so badly, she would have been more than happy to let fate be the Goblin King's judge.

After quite some time they finally left the trees behind. The clearing they stepped into was large and full of minuscule thatched houses of mud and straw and wood. A tiny stream wound through the middle of it, a bridge erected over the center for easy crossing. Sarah bent over to Hoggle's level and whispered, "You all live here?" It was a decided improvement over the dank, dirty Goblin City.

With pride he puffed out his chest and nodded back. "All the runaways live here, the ones that aren't loyal tah Abbaron. Everyone's asleep this time o' night."

"There are quite a lot of you," she marveled and crossed the bridge. She couldn't bring herself to peek at the reflection below and come face to face with her bedraggled self.

Didymus dismounted swiftly on the opposite side and began banging on the door of a larger hut.

"Open up, Sir Fagan!" There was grumbling from within. "This is a most dire situation, my friend! Open your door!" He rapped smartly on the wood, just short of barking.

"Alright, alright, hold your horses..." The little man who peered around the wooden door was no taller than Hoggle, but would have appeared human save for his pointed ears. His balding pate of gray shone in the fading moonlight. Groggily he took in the three friends, then let his gaze travel to Sarah. His mouth dropped into a perfect 'O.' "A human..."

"No, no, Fagan!" Hoggle grumbled and pointed to Ludo. The little man's eyes widened double as he took in the half-dead king.

"His majesty! Bless my soul, what happened?" He held the door open wide so that they could all shuffle through. Ludo and Sarah both ducked.

"Iron," Ludo answered simply and laid Jareth down on a rough cot in one corner. A cheery fire was sparking in the hearth, odd jars and vials catching the light and throwing it around.

Fagan delicately peeled back a matted section of hair and winced at the blood and bruising. "Nasty strike," he mumbled. "But there hasn't been iron Underground for centuries. Who..." His eyes flickered to Sarah. "The girl?"

"It was...an accident," she tried, not really sure why she should attempt to argue her innocence. He'd had it coming.

"Well," the healer responded gruffly, beginning to move around the floor and pick up odd jars, "you came just in time. Any longer and he would be lost to us." The three friends heaved a collective sigh, but Sarah looked warily in Jareth's direction. "Of course, an actual weapon of iron, if it had run him through, would bring death almost instantly. You've done damage, to be sure, but we can keep it from becoming fatal."

"Perhaps now that his majesty is with us," Didymus interjected, bouncing excitedly, "we will be able to storm the castle with full force. Oh, ho! How I will savor Abbaron's look of defeat when the rightful Goblin King takes his place!"

"So," Sarah ventured uneasily, watching Jareth's chest rise and fall with strain, "you really are going to help him? After all he's done?"

"Didn't ya see the Labyrinth, Sarah?" Hoggle sighed. "Abbaron's killin' anythin' that moves anymore. Jareth's a lousy fellow, but a just king."

"Besides," Fagan shrugged, "it's not like he has a choice."

Sarah quitted her attempts at trying to identify the myriad of herbs and concoctions littering the hut, and turned her attention to the healer. "What did you just say?"

"I said," he mumbled, turning to face her, "he doesn't have a choice in what he does."

There was a long pause from all in the hut, punctured only by the breath of the Goblin King. Sarah looked to her friends for input, but they remained silent. "He's the king," she reasoned slowly. "He makes all of his own choices, and sometimes everyone else's." Furrowing her brow, she turned back to Fagan. "Doesn't he?"

He solemnly shook the few remaining wires of gray on his head, returning his focus to his patient. "The High King makes all of the decisions. Especially those of the Goblin King."

"My lady," Didymus stepped forward at her befuddlement, "no one is aware of the exact terms, but legend is that there was a bargain struck between the High King and his majesty."

"Long time ago," Hoggle grumbled. "Bloody fairies, live forever..."

"Fae," Fagan corrected him. "But the dwarf's statement holds some truth. It was eons and eons ago. Come to think of it," he paused in his work thoughtfully, "I cannot recall the first account of the Goblin King."

Quietly Sarah became absorbed in the hum of her own thoughts. Lying before her on a crude cot was a creature who had quite possibly lived for all of eternity, who was hell-bent on dragging her back into a life she had tried to forget. And she had almost killed him. Twice. No wonder he was sardonic, acidic, and had a penchant for twisted bargains...he had been a part of one for too long.

"Well..." She bit her lip. There was no easy, or polite, way to say it. "If...everything's alright here, I'll guess I'll just..." Poof, leave?

Fagan arched a bushy brow, clearly seeing her internal struggle and frequent glances toward the door. "'Fraid not, my dear."

Her insides liquefied. "Why not? What," she scowled, "I can't leave without his permission?" Sarah waved a mocking hand towards the cot.

Hoggle winced. "Well..."

"_What_?" she screeched.

"In a sense," the healer shrugged.

"Oh, no no no," was her rapid denial. She held up her open palms as if to ward off some lethal substance. "No! I am _not_ waiting for 'His Majesty' to come to, just so that I can politely ask to return home. He'll chew me up and spit me out!" she hissed.

"Look at it this way." Fagan's back was to Sarah, but she could still sense the smile in his voice. "It's simply the way things are done."

Didymus had been watching the exchange diligently for a few moments, and interjected while Sarah paused to take a breath. "The passage of mortals into and out of the Underground is the sole jurisdiction of the Goblin King."

"And the High King," Fagan added absentmindedly. "But no one crosses him."

"And, technically," Hoggle continued, twisting his shirt into a worried knot, "Jareth's not even the Goblin King no more."

She snapped her mouth shut in order not to explode. After several heartbeats of blind furry, she managed, "So...I'm stuck down here. With _him_," she growled, "unless he gets to sit on his cushy throne again?" _And I can wrangle a way out of him to get home, _she added to herself. If he had worked so hard to get her down here, it would prove twice as hard to get back again.

Hoggle's whimper more or less served as confirmation.

In the corner Ludo had fallen asleep, and a loud snore was the only thing to break the awkward silence.

"Fine."

The other four turned, including the newly roused Ludo, to look at the girl, standing erect with her arms folded defiantly across her chest.

"If that's how he wants to play the game, fine. I'll get his royal arse back on the throne, but that's it. I'm not staying. I have a life Aboveground," she half lied, not entirely convinced any longer of the splendors of the real world. "I'm not sticking around just to be his pet."

"What?" Hoggle blinked. "I don' get it. Pet?"

She twisted the iron ring around her finger distractedly, pacing the few scant feet of clear floor. "He basically said that he owns me. Because I ate..." The dwarf's eyes grew painfully large and she felt a chill in her bloodstream. "You knew? Hoggle, you knew what that peach was going to do to me?" she dropped down to his level and saw tears of shame brimming in his blue eyes.

"No! No, Sarah, I swears it! I knew it was some trick of 'is, but nothin' like that! Oh, let him rot, Fagan, let the rat rot!" he yelled and ran to the cot. Ludo reached down swiftly and picked the dwarf up by the neck of his jerkin before he could kick Jareth into oblivion. When he continued to yell obscenities Fagan shot a sour look in his direction.

"Take him outside, Ludo. I don't care if he wakes up the whole camp, but I can't work like this!" He had cleaned the wound and was threading a delicate needle. The beast obliged, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and carried the struggling Hoggle outside, kicking the entire way.

"My lady," Didymus said as if seeing her for the first time, "your dress is most unusual. Would you not be more comfortable in something...else?"

Sarah looked down from chewing her thumbnail in worry, her eyes foggy, at the robe that barely came to her knees.

"Another resident of the camp would be more than willing to give you a loan," he prompted, averting his eyes.

"Oh, er...alright, I guess," she muttered, pulling the robe a little tighter. Had Jareth really been pressed to her back, wrapped his arms around her, despite the thin excuse for a barrier? She shook her head a little at the humiliation and disgust that was roiling in her stomach. "Please," she added.

Elated at receiving a task set by his lady, Didymus bowed dramatically. "I shall act as the fair maiden commands! Garments for both of our weary travelers, I believe. Ambrosious!" he whistled, darting out through the low doorway.

Fagan shook his head and let a smile tug the corner of his lips while he sewed. "Valiant as ever," he muttered. Jareth gave a low groan in his sleep. "What a state."

"Do you think he'll pull through?" Sarah asked dully, in what she imagined was a fair imitation of the king's tone.

The healer knotted and snapped the thread off. "My dear, iron may be the only lethal substance to a fae, but our king is stubborn." He turned serious, aged eyes her way. "Very stubborn."

Sarah leaned against the wall as he went back to work. "Yeah. I know."

Didymus returned soon, for which Sarah was thankful. She could only look around the hut, avoiding the Goblin King on the cot, for so long. A bundle of clothes was handed to her with a bow, and another was placed reverently at the feet of the king. Fagan showed her a side room, no more than a broom closet with a cut-out window, where she could change.

Hastily she shed the robe and stuffed it in the back of the closet. It...reminded her of too many things, one of which was Andrew. He had given it to her as a more-than-suggestive Valentine's Day present. The terrible thing was that Sarah had never really cared for it, or its giver. But they had both kept her warm.

Angry at herself for thinking ill of her friend, or boyfriend, or lover, or whatever the hell he was, Sarah yanked on the white shirt with billowy sleeves, made out of some sort of cotton. It wasn't _her_ fault that the relationships never lasted, or that the love felt fake. In any case, the robe could stay in a pile on the floor, and Andrew could cease to be of consequence. If she knew Jareth, he had probably wiped all of his memories of her anyway. He was still alive, which was all that really mattered.

After she had done all of the buttons up the front of her blouse, she pulled on a gray dress of a heavier material, tough and sturdy. The hem fell all the way to her feet, but wasn't a cumbersome length. The knight had been thoughtful enough to gather a pair of shoes, too. She tied the slippers of carefully worked leather with laces about her ankles and found, after some experimentation, that her feet could flex freely in them. Sarah feared her hair was a tangled mess, but didn't relish the idea of unraveling the snarls without a brush.

She emerged from the broom closet to find the hut full once again, all her friends sitting patiently across from the cot, with Hoggle looking rather sheepish.

"His majesty has progressed, my lady!" the knight offered happily. Apparently he thought that it would raise her spirits. It didn't.

"Good for him."

Hoggle rose slowly, as if hoping not to be noticed. When Sarah looked his direction anyway, he sighed. "Sarah, I...I's sorry." Absently he dug the toe of one shoe into the dirt floor. "I woulda fought him ten times harder if I'd known—" He stopped abruptly when she kneeled and engulfed him in a hug.

"You're my _friend_, Hoggle," she whispered so that only he could hear. "I know you'd never hurt me, and I forgive you." He gave her a gentle squeeze back, but couldn't answer.

Jareth gave a grumble of discomfort from the cot. Sarah could see that they had discarded the grimy garments and replaced them with clean, common ones. His boots rested at the foot of the bed, the only items of his former splendor left. Instead of sparkle, flash, or decadence of any kind, a crude tunic and plain trousers were all he wore. It was clear that the clothes had belonged to others before the king, as the shirt strained a little at the muscles of his biceps and his pants were held up by a thick leather belt. He looked uncomfortably out of place with his shining mane of untamed hair. _The prince_, Sarah thought wryly, _has become a pauper._

Fagan frowned suddenly, taking note of his patient's needs. "All this noise. Get out, the lot of you, his majesty should rest. _Not_ you," he pointed to Sarah as she made for the door. "You can stay here. I'll bring out the extra cot.''

"Oh, no you don't have—"

"Nowhere else for you to say tonight," he cut in, waving off her horrified look with what he obviously thought was generosity.

Didymus and Ludo had already retreated outside, but Hoggle took one nervous glance between Sarah and the king. As if to reassure himself more than her, he said, "'s alright, Sarah. I'll see ya in the mornin,'" and then slipped the door closed behind himself. When she turned around another cot, identical to Jareth's, was propped up against one wall. _Magic_, she sighed to herself. Sarah took a seat on it dejectedly.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem." Fagan looked critically at Jareth's wound. "Better, but he needs some water. I'll return in a moment." He crossed the room unusually fast for a creature with short legs.

"Where are you going?" she asked a bit too loud, gaze flitting to the king.

The healer raised a bushy brow. "To the well. Try and get some sleep?" He shook his head as he followed her friends out of the hut.

It was too quiet alone with him. She needed noise from something, anything, to keep her thoughts at bay. The morning was going to be murder, she mused bitterly, once he woke up. Jareth would crucify her for what she had done. Sarah took to drumming her fingers on the cot, issuing dull thuds. _Don't think. Sleep. You need sleep..._

He groaned again, louder than before. Her gaze wondered from her fingers and the iron ring to his face. With a jerk her heart flipped in her chest and she stilled her motions, watching as a hand rose from his side to trace the stitching at his temple. Her insides lurched when he tried to raise himself up on his elbows and fell back again. She was too terrified to do the smart thing and run, paralyzed on the cot. He was awake, dear God, and she was alone with him.

Jareth sighed, blinked up at the ceiling, and rolled his face toward her.

Her pulse skipped a beat. Then two.

He squinted through the firelight and moved his head a little. Sarah realized that she was holding her breath and let it out in a painful whoosh. They were just..._staring_ at each other.

His eyes narrowed like an angry cat. "What happened?" Inwardly Sarah cringed at the ice in his tone.

"I..." What? Nearly killed you? Her mouth said, of its own volition, "There was an accident."

Jareth's gaze flickered to another emotion, one she could not read. Slowly his eyes raked the length of her body. "I see. And have you been taking care of me all this time?" He raised his head a bit to see her better.

Sarah blinked, her anxiety quelled suddenly by confusion. "No. I haven't. A healer stitched you up." She watched him trace his wound again, and wondered if she had come out of the broom closet to another person entirely.

"Ah," he nodded knowingly and reclined back against the pillows. "Then how is it that such fine company is watching over me?"

"I am doing no such thing!" she spat, and then stood. Suddenly the hut seemed ridiculously small. "I don't have to sleep here. The grass is good enough for me."

He sat up again, perhaps a little straighter, looking thoroughly puzzled. "I apologize for being an inconvenience." Sarah twitched slightly at the word 'apologize,' and froze. "If you really must go, tell me one thing."

She had reached the door, and he hadn't pounced on her yet. All it would take was a few steps to be away from his white-hot gaze. Still, she turned to face him, and felt it burning into her eyes instead of into her back.

"What?"

For a moment he looked around the room as if trying to find the answer there. Eventually he returned his gaze to her, dissatisfied. "Who are you?"

Sarah spluttered. Some weight settled in her stomach, a mixture of distrust and exasperation. Sure, the light was poor, but he had no excuse to provoke her, like...

"Sarah? You know, Sarah Williams? _Precious Thing_?" she snarled.

"Precious thing?" he laughed merrily. With horror she saw that his face held something rather like pity. "You flatter yourself." Again he settled himself into the pillows, lounging with one knee drawn up to his chest. A hand was twirling a strand of golden hair, and he examined it while saying, "Alright, I lied. Tell me two things." There was no response from Sarah, except the crimson flooding her face. "If you are Sarah Williams...who am I?"


	3. Believer, Deceiver

III

Believer, Deceiver

The abrupt question shocked Sarah into momentary silence. What in the hell did he mean by that? After the fleeting feeling of disbelief had passed, her glazed eyes refocused on Jareth's form, lazing indolently on the cot, wearing a smug, expectant expression.

It was his face that did it. The calm, eager, self-righteous twinkle in his eye. She knew, simply knew, that the boiling in her blood was going to cause something regrettable to happen, but she didn't care. Sarah had endured just about enough of his games, and if he was going to kill her, she might as well give him a good reason.

She practically flew across the small hut, closing the space between them in long, angry strides, and lowered her face directly in front of his. "Do not tempt me," she growled, "to kill you a third time. I have _had_ it with your bullshit!"

He jerked his head away in shock, abandoning his idle pose for a more defensive one. "What the devil, woman?" he hissed in return, subtly trying to put as much room between them as possible. Within seconds his eyes had switched from a hardened blue to a light, mischievous sparkle. His voice dropped an alluring octave as he chuckled, "I understand now." He moved his face back in front of hers, and though Sarah was startled at the nearness, she stubbornly refused to back down. She had started this fight, after all, and she was going to finish it. "I _do_ apologize," he continued, looking over her features as he spoke, "but I truly cannot recall our time together. It must not have been as pleasurable as you remember."

Every one of her murderous thoughts froze. As if from far away she felt her eyebrows knit together, trying to make sense of what he had said. And then, just as she opened her mouth to retort something with a definite lack of finesse, he whispered,

"Perhaps you can refresh my memory."

They were so close that she missed his movement, and the firelight was making everything into a blur, and her muscles were protesting loudly at the length with which they had to endure her crouched stance, and then—

His mouth covered hers, still open with some unformed retort, and his tongue was tasting her, and his fingers were pulling her jaw closer to him, and time had slowed way, way down. Too slow. She didn't remember closing her eyes. She didn't remember, in the entire history of her existence, ever feeling so damned much at one time. Or feeling so _good_.

Which was _wrong_.

The full force of his implications came hurtling back at the exact moment that Jareth decided to nip playfully on her bottom lip. Sarah tore away from him with more force than was strictly necessary, almost throwing herself to the floor in her haste. When her hand felt dirt she realized, horrified, that she was already on the floor. Her knees had buckled some time ago. And her lip, she found as she licked it distractedly, tasted like blood and _him_.

"No," Jareth mused to himself as if Sarah was not there, panting on the floor. "Sorry, love, but we've never met," he concluded, finally turning his attention back to the girl. Pensively he drew a finger over his lips. "I believe I would have remembered that."

Unconsciously she raised a hand to her own lips, bruised and split, before registering the intensity of his insistent, darkly possessive stare. He didn't seem at all happy with his deduction, or her reaction. And, for all the world, she thought miserably, here she was still trying to smother the fire that had erupted in her chest, her hair disheveled exactly as if she had been engaging in some sinfully delicious activities. Which, she thought, she _had _been earlier, if what happened with Andrew even counted.

Blinking would not banish the sensation. Her head was still reeling, and her heartbeat was still racing at an frightening pace, but none of it quelled the rising anger that was always present with him near. Sarah thrust a hand forward, the one devoid of an iron ring, but he caught her wrist with a chuckle.

"How dare you," she spat, trying to tear away. "I wouldn't sleep with you if you were the last man alive!"

"Darling, your kisses insist just the opposite," he laughed at her struggles. It seemed he took a fair amount of pleasure from being in control, Sarah's reluctance no hindrance.

Sarah almost blanched, and her struggle became even wilder. _Her_ kisses? Had she even kissed him back? But then… She swallowed thickly. If she had kissed him back, just how far did she go? The grin on his face was a mortifying indication of exactly what she must have done, and with a wrench of her arm she was finally free from his grasp and at the door.

His eyes darkened for a split second, and she never heard him mumble, "Such a pity." He looked on as she threw the door wide, prepared on running right out into the night, only to come face to face with Fagan who was laden with two full buckets of water.

"Thank you, my dear," he huffed, hobbling past her with his load. "I was…" he began, setting down his buckets, but then stopped short as the door slammed with a resounding _bang_. "Why, I never… Your majesty!" Fagan glanced to the cot and was rewarded with the sight of Jareth awake for the first time. He dropped onto one knee between the buckets, bowing his head low in submission and fear.

The blond raised both of his eyebrows high into his hair. "Majesty? You are all lunatics in this place, then?"

Fagan looked up perplexed. "Your highness? The…Goblin King?"

Jareth shook his head and shoved the covers back. "I thank you for whatever service you have provided me, but I cannot linger…here." He looked around the cramped hut again and rose quickly. Too quickly, for he sank back to the bed seconds later.

"No, don't rise yet," the healer commanded. Jareth sent him a menacing glare. "Er…please? You aren't completely well…"

The Goblin King looked about irritably and found his boots. Ignoring Fagan's pleas, he pulled them on along with the leather gloves resting on a table beside the cot. "If no one around here is going to tell me who I am, then I will simply have to find answers elsewhere. Good evening, sir," he said, voice clipped, and executed a mock bow before striding from the hut.

Fagan watched him go in horror, and then scampered after when he did not return. Outside the clearing was empty and quiet. With a growing sense of dread he broke into a panicked run, heading toward Hoggle's house.

Sarah ignored the stitch under her ribs but slowed down her pace from a run to a long stride. "The nerve of him!" she panted heavily, scowling. Blind fury was driving her deeper and deeper into the woods, but she only continued swatting at twigs and jumping over the occasional log. "I knew it," she huffed, gaining some of her breath back, "we should have let him turn to dust out there on that cliff. The arrogant pig!" Now she had slowed to a steady, stomping walk. One bush met the smack of her hand, still itching to wipe the grin off of his face. Her new clothes were already torn in some places by wayward brambles, but she didn't care. "If I ever see him again," she raged lowly, kicking a rock, "I'll make sure he can't remember his name for as long as he lives. Unbelievable…" She was making far too much noise to hear the creature prowling a few feet away in the underbrush, so she huffed and flopped down onto a tree stump and groused at her shoes.

She gave a groan of frustration and dropped her head into her hands. The stupid man, or fae, she supposed. Typical male either way. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, subconsciously reliving the feel of his tongue slipping inside her mouth, and her own tongue found the split area of her lip. She winced at the pain that she still felt, and at the scalding heat in her abdomen.

"It doesn't make any sense," she mumbled. She hadn't been so furious about having his arms around her, at least not to the point of this rage, but a _kiss_…that was a completely different matter. "Because it wasn't a restraint with a kinky twist," she snorted to no one. "It was a…a…"

For some reason she couldn't describe it. Sure, it was a kiss, but there had been more to it than that. It had surpassed the intimacy of his lingering touch, possessive, but not so punishing. Forward, yes, and full of lusty anticipation. Hard and fast and full of deals with the devil, but…

"Wrong," she decided aloud. "It felt wrong, like…"

Like he had stolen it from her.

She was so wrapped up in analyzing the kiss, the way Jareth's fingertips had brushed her jaw and skittered down her neck, the way his mouth tasted warm and spicy, that Sarah forgot to use her other senses. Distracted, it was too easy to ignore the dangerous creature that was slowly gaining ground. The animal hunched behind a tree, shoulders flexing experimentally to find a proper angle. Its muscles were taught in a crouch, waiting, calculating. The girl had nothing of its speed, she would be easy enough prey…

A snapping twig caused Sarah to swivel her head out of her hand. Immediately a chilly feeling of fear manifested in her gut, dousing whatever fire had been there, and she realized just how far she had wandered off. There was no trail in these woods to lead her back to camp.

"Who's there?" she tried, but her voice sounded gravelly. There was a momentary lull in the other forest noises, which she didn't like at all, so she took the opportunity to stand. Hastily she looked around and scooped up a large branch. "I'm armed!" she warned loudly.

"_The creatures in this forest are not as friendly as you remember."_

She felt sick.

Something rustled close by. Sarah spun in a circle, managing to addle her sense of direction further. She waved the branch a little bit in self-reassurance. Silently she cursed her rashness and Jareth's effect on her temper. Now she was alone in a dark, unfamiliar wood where something was about to eat her, and she would never get a chance to be properly angry at him—

A figure burst from a tangle of trees directly behind her, crashing noisily through the foliage, and Sarah reflexively spun with a shriek and wacked at it with all her might. To her horror the creature caught it firmly and sent it spinning to the ground.

"Then you were serious about killing me. Not a very convincing attack, my dear," came a drawl from the dark.

She covered the place over her heaving chest where her heart was certainly going to explode, and then growled with all of the pent-up emotions pushing out of her mouth.

"You!" Sarah flung herself at Jareth with the full force of her body, propelled by some new sense of self-preservation and renewed anger, fully intending to beat him to a pulp. "I am going to put you in the ground, Goblin King!" she screeched. So maybe she couldn't kill him. She could very well maim him. It was infinitely easier to attack him after his little surprise, as if it entitled her to threaten him any way she pleased.

"What was it?" he mused calmly, encircling her wrists with his fingers in an attempt to keep her nails from clawing out his eyes. "Sarah? Or would you prefer Miss Williams?" Slowly he smoothed his hands down her arms, midway to the elbow, easily relaxing his hold while still keeping her fairly immobile. Suddenly he pulled her flush against him, lowering his mouth to the sensitive skin right below her ear. "It is miss," he laughed, "isn't it?"

She snarled and wrestled at his outrageous implications. The pompous jerk was still playing dirty mind games. "Take your hands off of me, Jareth!"

"At last!" he sighed heavenward. "A name. Now we are getting somewhere. It would please me if you elaborated…that is the second time I have heard of this Goblin King nonsense."

Sarah finally realized that she could pull her arms out of the sockets and she would still be held fast to him. To her dismay, relaxing only made him settle more comfortably against her. What little she could see of his face was questioning, his mismatched eyes searching and probing her own for answers.

"You really don't remember," she breathed. "Don't you know the Labyrinth or the goblins? Abbaron, or… or…dear God, anything?"

His mouth tilted down at the corners. "No," he said softly, "nothing at all. I don't even remember you," he continued in a far more velvet tone, moving one hand to the small of her back and pressing them together. "And that is quite a crime."

She opened her mouth to argue just exactly what she thought was the crime here, but the sudden tug he gave muffled her mouth against his chest. Her senses were assaulted with the feel of his satin skin on her cheek, peeking from between the open folds of his coarse shirt.

"Don't…move." The whisper was barely more than a breath of air, but a command nonetheless. Sarah didn't need to be told twice, not when she saw the flickering pale yellow eyes in the weeds. The faintest of growls could be heard emanating from their general direction, and she felt the nerves along her spine clench in fear. Jareth took one careful step backwards, pulling Sarah with him, and she mirrored his movements. With every step they took the pair of eyes sunk lower to the ground, deepening the crouch.

She could hear his heartbeat drumming rhythmically under her ear, something so human it made her quiver the tiniest bit. His arms briefly tightened, and then loosened almost enough to drop away completely. Quietly he removed the hand that had remained around her wrist and placed it on her arm.

"When I let you go," he breathed, "run." Sarah looked up, fully intending to say something, but his stare halted her. "No." The growling had intensified. "Don't look back, just go. Understand?" Her head moved up and down as if on a puppet's string. "On three. One." His hands settled on her hips. "Two." With painstaking slowness he turned her body in the direction of the camp, down the path of underbrush his boots had stomped flat. "Thr—"

A piercing snarl tore through her senses like a knife to the heart. It flew out of the bushes at the same moment that Jareth gave Sarah a mighty shove. She tumbled face-first into the dirt, rolling and scraping her palms before she was able to right herself.

Jareth and the creature were already grappling loudly on the ground, the thing hissing and spitting and roaring. Or was that Jareth? The beast was as large as him, but the dark made its features indistinguishable, and what was worse…

It was a tangle of limbs, fur, and shimmering-white hair, all fast becoming coated thickly in dirt. They would break apart only for one or the other to lung with strange feline precision, each of them somehow dizzily avoiding the other's swipes. Above it all was an odd sort of howling, becoming more shrill and strangled with every second. If she listened closely, it sounded like…

"Run, you idiot girl!" With a mighty heave Jareth managed to propel the beast some feet away from his body. Sarah was temporarily fascinated. He was so tall and willowy, so lithe, where did all the brute strength come from? Amidst her completely useless assessment another roar issued from one of the two, bringing her back to the action at hand.

The beast was looking directly at her, ignoring the advancing Jareth to its left. Sarah was still frozen on the ground, but he managed to dart between them and scoop up her abandoned branch. "Get out of here! Dim-witted fool, get help!" he thundered, heaving the wood at the animal.

She picked herself up off the ground mechanically, too afraid to tear her eyes away from the battle. The adversaries were circling each other, Jareth trying to keep himself between the beast and the girl. Her legs were like lead but she bunched her skirts in her fingers and prepared to run.

This time she could clearly see that it was Jareth who sprang forward, easily identified by the branch hefted above his head. The impromptu weapon caught the beast squarely in the shoulder and it stumbled, but the Goblin King was fooled at his victory. Long, unforgiving claws swiped at his leg before he lost his balance and fell with a hard smack on his back. Winded, he lay struggling with his breath while the creature circled him, intent on making one final, fatal blow.

Sarah should have been running like he told her to. She could have made it to camp and back with help by now, but that window of opportunity had vanished. The acutely uncomfortable thought had entered her mind that "immortal" did not mean "invincible" when several essential organs went missing, iron or no iron. This creature was far too large and deadly to be brought down by a single person, despite how obviously worthy an opponent Jareth was. Her brain refused to rationalize anymore—it seemed only to want to think on instinct.

Her body was full of surprising reactions tonight. When the beast raised a massive paw, its face hovering just above Jareth's panting one, fangs intent on tasting his blood, she moved.

She landed precisely on top of the beast, nearly straddling it, her hands outstretched and tangled in the matted fur. It bucked its humped spine in surprise and spun to find her, but a blinding, white-hot heat was searing from her hands and into its flesh. Sarah yelled in surprise at the light pouring from her fingers and the beast yowled in agony and twitched, stumbling away with her still astride it. Finally it managed to sling her off and she landed heavily in the dirt several feet away. It tumbled to the ground, gave one last plaintive howl to the night, and moved no more.

The unnatural bluish glow faded rapidly from her palms, but her labored breathing did not. She gasped in little gulps of air and sat stationary in shock, staring at her skin. It wasn't until she heard the additional sounds of rough breathing that she remembered Jareth.

He was still on the ground, his breathing pattern slowly returning to normal, but was watching her with a fierce trepidation. "Go on, little witch, finish me off," he growled. "Lure me into the woods, but don't let the animals maul me to pieces, no. Did you want that pleasure all to yourself?"

His accusatory, venomous speech caused Sarah to recoil. The creature was smoldering several feet away, the smell of singed fur tainting the air.

"Witch?" she squeaked.

He was eyeing her hands with disgust. "I should have known your beauty was nothing more than an illusion." Carefully he stood, put a hand down to his leg, and winced when he brought bloodied fingers up to his face. "Well. If you aren't going to kill me like you promised, then I am going to leave. I have no desire to see your shape morph into a hag come morning." Without a backwards glance he began moving through the woods again. She stared after him a few seconds, momentarily speechless, before her mouth twisted unpleasantly.

"Witch!" She shook her head in disbelief and then scrambled to her feet, ignoring the unpleasant dull throb of her palms. "Jareth, come back here!"

When she caught up to him he was standing painfully erect, back to her, as if deciding whether to press forward or turn around. After a few seconds in which he did neither, she continued, "I am _not_ a witch! I…didn't even know I could _do_ that."

He spun to face her then, and she was alarmed to see a barely contained fury just under the surface of his features. "That is powerful magic, old magic. You don't just _do_ it," he spat in exasperation, "you hone it for some dark, calculated purpose. Ensnaring innocent lost souls, perhaps." Revulsion colored his tone. "Like me. Now, if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way." He stomped off again, waving a hand behind him. "Find yourself another victim for breakfast."

It shouldn't have made her as angry as it did. It shouldn't have mattered, on any level, what the infuriatingly haughty Goblin King thought of her. She could have let him walk out of her life forever, returned to camp totally blameless, and never put up with his mockery or self-righteousness again.

"I just saved you!" The words practically exploded from her mouth. For some indefinable reason she found herself chasing him down, crashing through the trees. "You ungrateful ass! And I do not _eat_ people!" She gasped as he turned swiftly, lunging back her direction and pinning her shoulders roughly against a tree. "And you should talk," she continued heatedly, though her voice wavered, "when you can do magic, too."

Jareth blinked, the anger dissipating quickly into surprise before returning full force. "You're lying." They were nose to nose, as if he expected to scare the truth out of her.

Sarah shook her head as hard as possible without scraping her skull on the rough bark. "You can do magic. I've seen it. It's…" How was she supposed to explain something he should already know? "Like little crystal balls."

His hands tightened on her shoulders. "Now you are accusing me of sorcery. I do not think that I am associated with…your kind." Blond head tilted to the side, he regarded her face with a strange fascination. "Are you sure you aren't some form of enchantress?" Now his voice was softer, as if he had fallen a long way into his own thoughts. Sarah was startled when one of his gloved hands migrated from her shoulder up her neck, his touch feather light, and continued through her hair. She bit back the sigh that was begging to rush through her lips and watched as he rested his forearm comfortably against the tree over her head. Hesitantly she raised her scratched palms to his chest, intent on pushing him away, but he said, "No normal spirit could have bewitched me so thoroughly."

The hiccup that her insides gave was something she chalked up to Ludo crashing through the trees in the next instant. He was happily roaring, "Sawah, King!" and for a second the two under the tree were startled motionless.

Before she could utter a word of greeting to her friend, Jareth had grabbed her again, harder than before, and shoved her behind his back. Frantically he started looking around, and his hand was already outstretched to seize a long branch with thorny ends.

"No!" she yelled, ducking under his arm. When he still attempted to reach for the branch, scowling in Ludo's direction, she tugged the front of his shirt hard, the sudden force of her pull arresting his movements. "He's a friend," she explained desperately. Seconds later Hoggle and Didymus appeared from the weeds, thankfully, and he took them as allies instead of enemies without question.

"Your majesty!" the fox cried, giving a neat salute and clicking his heels together. "Healer Fagan announced that you had departed quite suddenly—"

Ludo snagged Hoggle abruptly as he made for Jareth, a menacing glower contorting his mouth.

"You keep quite odd company for not being a witch," he mumbled to the girl, who still had a firm hold on his shirt.

Standing there, with her fingers knotted in his shirt and her friends all talking at once, Sarah came to a decision. She might not like him, but Jareth was the key to her return home. She had made a promise to see his stubborn hide back on the throne, and a Williams never broke a promise.

Coming out of her reverie, she noticed with discomfort that Jareth had watched every single decision parade across her face. Even worse, he had managed to plant his hands firmly at her waist, anchoring her to him.

"Look," she hissed, increasingly aware of the tingle spreading every place he touched, and of Didymus still going on obliviously before them, "at least come back to camp and let us explain. And your wound needs cleaning. Then—" she choked, feeling one of his hands making its way up her spine, "_Then_ I don't give a hoot where you go." This had better be worth it, at least for her friends' sakes, especially if she had to endure his smirks much longer.

With a glance at his leg, the pants shredded just above his boots, he grimaced. "Agreed. But will you release me first? Only," he continued in a murmur dangerously close to her ear, "if you want, of course."

Silently berating herself for letting him play his tricks on her, Sarah shoved at his chest and wriggled out of his arms, glaring thunderously.

They all trooped back in the direction of the camp, lingering a few moments at the fallen beast. Daylight was beginning to break overhead in watery purples and grays, illuminating the terrifying animal before them. Sarah had been right about the slight feline resemblance, though it had no tail; its paws were massive and fangs curled up from its bottom jaw. It made her feel ill. She shuddered and moved away after only a glance, wiping her dirty hands on her dress. "What is it?" she asked Hoggle, partly out of curiosity, and partly to keep him from strangling Jareth.

"Don' know," he shrugged. "Abbaron's, prolly. Been breedin'…things down in the Labyrinth."

Sarah flinched slightly at his words. "Breeding? He's _breeding_ things down there? Why?" Her face was appalled. Hoggle shrugged again.

"Wants tah make the Labyrinth impossible. This'n looks like an escapee, or a failure. Didya know," he continued in a whisper, "there's been rumor of poisonous fangs on some of 'em? Iron venom."

Sarah digested the information for a moment. "But, isn't iron lethal down here?"

"Tah some," he replied thoughtfully. "Fae especially, but I dunno about Abbaron's crossbreeds."

"He would breed an animal with a self-destruct mechanism?" she wondered aloud. "Why?"

"Because," Hoggle huffed, resuming their walk, "he's a cruel, seedy bastard, that one is."

Sarah picked up her pace a little, giving a worried glance behind her. "I'll say."

Fagan was standing outside of his hut, wringing his hands in an uncharacteristically worried fashion. "Mercy!" he exclaimed when they had crossed the bridge. "Quick, come inside, everyone will be moving about soon. I heard the most tremendous racket while you were gone…"

Jareth took a dignified seat back on his cot while the others crowded into the room. "Healer, kindly attend to my wounds so that I may leave. Miss Williams over there refuses my freedom otherwise." He looked to Sarah the entire time he talked, sending indignant stares her way. She crossed her arms and scowled.

Bound to obey his king, Fagan looked Jareth over and halted at his pants leg. Delicately he pulled back the ribbons of fabric, sodden with blood, and shook his head. "Nothing I can do for that. Look yourself."

Jareth sighed impatiently and gathered up the material for a better look. "Just bandage it up to appease her, will you? I've got enough problems without her badgering…"

The crowded little hut looked on as Jareth traced a gloved finger over the pale skin of his leg. Dried blood was caked over a large area, but he brushed it away impatiently to reveal the perfect flesh beneath. There was no wound to speak of, not even a scratch or scar.

He gaped, looking from his leg to the healer, then up to Sarah.

She gave a small, resigned sigh, but couldn't help the twitch at the corner of her own mouth. "I told you so."

The three companions looked at each other in confusion. Didymus stepped forward tentatively and whispered, "Your majesty?"

"For the love of…" He tilted his head to the thatched roof and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am not royalty. I don't even know any of you!" he yelled, waving to the lot.

"How can you be sure of that?" Sarah asked silkily, gliding over to the cot. It felt wonderful, empowering even, to have the upper hand for once. "If you know so much about yourself, then why couldn't you remember your own name?" Slowly she lowered her face down so that they were eye to eye. "Tell me…what happened last night?"

Jareth's eyes grew very round before they narrowed, cat-like in anger and frustration. A defense. "I cannot recall, _precious_. You tell me."

"Sweet goblins!" Fagan breathed. "He has amnesia!"

Sarah snorted loudly. "Obviously." She turned her back on the king, who was shaking his head furiously, trying to rattle his thoughts back into place.

"Maybe…" Fagan thought aloud, "if you rest? Yes, once you wake I bet it all comes back to you." He began ushering the crowd from his hut, impatient to be out of the king's deadly stare himself.

Sarah shrieked in surprise as Jareth yanked her down onto his lap. Hoggle spun, halfway out the door, and made to ram himself at the king's shins.

"I'm comin', Sarah! Get yer hands off 'er, Jareth! I swear, I'll—"

A gloved hand was already around her throat, tilting her head back at an awkward angle. And though she struggled, Jareth had all the control in that position. "My friend, cease your worthless babbling. No one is to leave this room until I have all of my answers." His voice was quiet and cold. Hoggle paled, if that was possible, reacting the same as if he had been struck.

Didymus sprang forward brandishing his spear. "Release the maiden, scoundrel!" he roared. "My allegiance to you is forfeit in the case of her impending harm!" The mustache below his muzzle quivered in anger. Ludo looked confused and alarmed, but made no sign to move, and Fagan was a study in fright.

Jareth lowered his lips to Sarah's ear, his dirty blond locks tickling her face. "Tell them to cooperate, sweet, or I will go after your comrades once I have finished with you."

God, she hated him. He was like a freaking cat with nine lives. But somehow, Goblin King or not, he always knew that her friends were her weak point. "Just tell him," Sarah said quietly, looking at the ceiling. His fingers were poised around her neck, true, but Jareth wasn't applying any pressure. Yet.

"I don' think ya've been listenin'," Hoggle huffed. "We've told ya a million times…you're the Goblin King. The ruler of the Labyrinth."

"And I supposedly have magic, like the witch," he added, letting his thumb trace the hollow of her throat.

"Sawah not witch," Ludo argued.

"She don't have no magic," the dwarf shook his head, "but you sure do. Used it on me plenty o' times."

"Actually," Sarah whispered, still looking to the ceiling and refusing to meet Jareth's glare, "I do have…something, Hoggle. I don't know whether to call it magic, but it killed the beast in the forest." Everyone looked at her in astonishment, save Jareth, who tightened the arm pinning her hands to her sides.

"Ah, she admits to witchcraft," he smirked. "What kind of punishment is due you, I wonder?" The gleam in his eye was starting to frighten her.

"I am _not_ a witch!" she proclaimed once and for all, fairly tired of repeating herself. "You act like I'm on trial!"

"Very well," he sighed. "All in good time, I suppose. But now, someone explain how I came to be in this sorry condition. You," he nodded imperiously at Fagan.

The healer was beyond flustered and seemed to have developed a new speech impediment. "She…you…hit you, with iron," he managed lamely.

Jareth chuckled, showing proof of just how mercurial his moods could be. "So that was what you meant," he laughed at the girl in his lap. "This makes twice…I wonder what the third attempt consisted of?"

She really despised feeling vulnerable to him, in his lap, going over her misgivings.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

The emotions on his face flickered, for once open and deliberately trying to settle on a feeling. "There is much of you I would like to know," he purred, sliding his hand higher up her neck.

"Now see here!" Hoggle started after watching Sarah shiver, but Jareth's look turned glacial again.

Fagan finally found his voice and decided to cut in before things took a turn for the worst. "Do you remember nothing of your race? Of the fae?"

Intrigued, Jareth temporarily let his attention slide from the dwarf to the healer. "Do tell. I was only aware of the most powerful fae possessing magic. Hmm…I suppose this encourages your 'king' theory."

Didymus nodded, not used to staying quiet for so long, the threat to Sarah forgotten in his excitement to please. "And your wound! Immortality has given you the power of speedy recovery. Only iron is fatal."

"Yes, we've already established that. Haven't we, Sarah?" he smiled.

"I'm afraid so," she muttered darkly, squirming a little in his grasp. "Any more questions?"

A slice of silence hung on the air while Jareth overcame the distracting effect Sarah's wiggling had had on him. "As a matter of fact," he snapped tersely, "yes. If I am a king, as you claim, and posses magic, then how did I wind up in this hole of a village?"

Sarah's brain turned from sluggish to feverish with thought. Now would be the perfect opportunity to save her skin, to start all of this mess on a clean slate. Did he really have to know about the peach? Certainly there was no need to go into detail about his ownership of her. Before anyone else could speak, she rushed, "Another dethroned you and took the Goblin Kingdom. We met again last night and had a…row. I accidentally knocked you out with this." She fluttered her fingers the best she could and he glanced skeptically at the ring. "We're the rebellion that wishes to reinstate you." It wasn't all completely a lie. More like half-truths strung together, but it was more or less the gist of things. Sarah had simply left a few parts out, parts that weren't necessary to saving the Labyrinth, or getting her home.

Jareth mulled the information over with a faraway look. "I am sorry to hear that another dethroned me. And got away with it."

"Abbaron is an oppressive ruler," Didymus sighed. "The land has wilted and died, there has been no interaction with the other kingdoms, and the citizens have been bereft of joy for these thirteen long years. Wilt thou not reclaim the throne?"

Jareth threw a doubtful sidelong glance at the fox. "King of a bunch of unruly goblins?"

"Much more," Fagan interjected. "You answered to the call of things lost or abandoned, children in particular. As Goblin King you managed the flux of these things into and out of the Above, and you hold claim to the Labyrinth itself."

Under Sarah Jareth stirred, frowning. "The Labyrinth…" There was a kind of detached recognition in his voice.

Fagan nodded before he said, "You are its creator, its master, and its caretaker. The unwanted beast, child, and fae alike came to you as refugees. The shunned and rejected had a home. Now…" He choked a little. "Abbaron has hundreds of slaves at his bidding, shackled and bound to his will. The children included."

Sarah gasped so loud that Jareth nearly dropped her to the floor. "No! That monster…" Her mind immediately fabricated a cruel scenario of grubby children and beasts, straining under the weight of some labor. What if that had been Toby? Her heart was breaking at the thought, at the lingering guilt that remained from her foolish decision, and she struggled enough in the circle of Jareth's arms that she could lock eyes with him. "You _have_ to go back!"

His face was an impassive, thin-lipped mask once more, but his eyes were conflicted. The whole hut was holding its breath, and then, "Very well. I can hardly stand by and watch while another claims what is rightfully mine." Sarah's eyes widened at his words, so familiar…

He released her quickly and propelled her out of his lap. Before he could touch her again Sarah was across the room, tracing her neck. Jareth had barely made contact with her skin, it had all been for show, but she didn't doubt the potential in those gloved fingers. Accidentally she backed into Ludo and he placed a reassuring paw on her shoulder.

A sharp pounding on the door caused everyone to jump. "Fagan? Fagan, are you awake?"

"Duty calls," he grumbled before glancing to his company. "Well? Get out the back, go on! You two," he pointed an accusing finger, "are making my house smell. Go and take a bath in the river, will you?" Jareth and Sarah shot incredulous looks at the little man, but they were already out the back door. "Ask Hoggle for some soap." The door slammed in their faces and Jareth gave Sarah a fleeting scowl.

"That little scab has soap?"

The time to talk was apparently over. With the rising sun more and more creatures were stirring, still unaware of their visitors. Within minutes Sarah had a coarse piece of fabric to serve as a towel and a foul smelling bar of soap. Didymus apologized profusely over the fact that she would have to wear her current garments until others could be found, and then Hoggle took her by the hand to lead her to the river. She thought he pulled with enough force to be running, perhaps away from his king. Sarah couldn't really blame him.

"Here," he puffed, releasing her hand. The river was fairly wide and several thick trees dotted the bank. "No one'll come this way for a while, but hurry. We've got tah make a plan about this mess 'fore Jareth decides on running off again." The dwarf scuttled back the way he had come and left Sarah alone to wash.

Quietly Sarah hung her towel on a low branch and stripped off her shoes. Hesitantly she dipped a few toes in the water, then yanked her foot back out with a yelp. It was _frigid_.

_Well, perfect_.

She sighed but pulled the dress over her head anyway. It had been a while since her bath the morning before, not to mention that she'd rolled around in quite a bit of dirt last evening. To top it all off she smelled like the beast, especially her soiled hands.

The sound of splashing water caught her attention. Fish, maybe? She peeked around a thicker branch that was obscuring her view from the rest of the river and nearly swallowed her tongue in surprise.

Jareth was standing waist-deep in the water, his golden head plunged beneath the surface while his fingers scrubbed over his scalp. With a sudden fling he resurfaced, his bare back to her, tawny muscles flexing pale in the morning sunlight. The spray from his hair scattered around him in shimmering, iridescent beads. She was transfixed.

Sarah slapped herself a little on one cheek. He looked unreal, like a part of the water, some sort of male siren…she slapped herself again and turned away. Now how was she supposed to get clean?

She turned around in nothing but her billowy undershirt, intent on redressing and waiting for him to leave. But when her gaze flickered around the branch, back to the spot she had last seen him, no one was there. Tilting her head, Sarah strained to see farther up the bank. All that remained of the Goblin King was a pair of worn leather boots.

"Lovely day for a swim." Sarah stiffened visibly and bit her lip before turning around. There he was, half out of the river and leering at her. His frosty hair had turned gold with the water, raked back carelessly from his face to frame a pointed grin. "Won't you join me?"


	4. Armistice

IV

Armistice…

Her undershirt, which had only acted as a simple barrier between her skin and the coarse dress, scarcely came down to her knees and insisted on moving around a great deal in the early morning breeze. Sarah was acutely aware of her bare legs, covered in gooseflesh by now, and of the way Jareth was apparently not wasting any time, or scruples, in memorizing those curves. He blinked lazily and contented himself by regarding Sarah's immobilized figure, floating back down into the water to await an answer.

It was at times like these that Sarah's tongue felt awkwardly thick. Before she had met the Goblin King with retorts of sharp wit, his cool, almost dismissive consideration giving her childish mission a drive.

But this wasn't the Goblin King she was dealing with. This was Jareth, the man behind the mask, and now that she had his full, albeit unwanted, attention, she wasn't sure what to do with it.

Sarah's usual ire should have flared to life by now, but something was blocking it. A strange pricking feeling of warring hurt and disgust, remembering how he had captured her vulnerable throat without any sense of remorse.

And now he was eyeing her like some common vamp.

In the next instant she was scowling, her anger too deep for words, and she had spat a generous amount of condemnation in his direction.

Jareth looked at the spittle gleaming on the bank before him.

"Not very friendly, are we?" Despite his words, he looked like he was suppressing an all-out grin.

Immediately Sarah hated his self-confidence and her own petty actions. She might as well have stuck out her tongue.

"Oh, I know," she sneered. "Since you like playing games so much, how about we see how long you can hold your breath, hmm? You go under water and I'll count to infinity."

The effect was obviously lost on Jareth, or he was choosing to ignore her, because the almost-grin remained.

"You are a strange creature, little witch," he admitted mostly to himself. "Begging for a savior one minute and damning him the next." She didn't like the look of amusement he was giving her.

She was used to the Goblin King being the prickly sort, not playful.

In those few moments of contemplation Sarah remembered her state of undress, hastily backing to the branch and wrapping the towel around her lower half, feeling ridiculous.

"You haven't saved anything yet, Jareth." Automatically she cursed herself for using his name and eliciting the grin that made his face, if it was possible, even brighter in the sun.

"No?" he laughed, and something bubbled up inside of her at the sound. Had she ever heard him laugh before? "I distinctly remember fighting off a beast last evening on your account."

"Which I smoked at the last minute," she reminded him, pointing to one of her grimy palms. Sarah allowed herself to flash him a smug victory smile. She felt rather hollow behind it.

"Perhaps," he thought aloud, dragging a few fingers over his mouth, "it was a draw?"

"No," she replied nastily, fighting the urge to plant her hands on her hips lest the towel drop, "it was not. No one asked you to follow me into the woods."

Jareth looked like he had something rather good to toss back at her, but wisely kept his own council. Instead he said, "I believe in your little recount of events, you mentioned that we met… 'again' last evening. Tell me," he went on, ignoring her twitch of mortification, "where have we met before?"

The sudden turn of conversation was like touching her hand to a live wire. There was so much danger in the truth, and it was the crux of this whole fiasco to begin with. How could she have been so _stupid_?

"That doesn't matter now," she very nearly growled, shakily turning to scoop up her belongings. She needed to get away, and fast. If things came right down to it, she could wash in a bucket.

"Ah."

His tone was too conclusive for Sarah not to turn around. Unfortunately, he seemed to have come to what might prove to be a dangerous deduction, however inaccurate.

"You do not seem particularly pleased. Perhaps we parted on less than satisfactory terms?" He was rising out of the water now and she ducked her head, not really wanting to see _all_ of him. So far she'd done a fair job of overlooking his defined pectorals, and sculpted shoulders, and fine-boned hands, and—

_Well, shit._

So much for being blissfully ignorant.

Lucky for Sarah his torn pants were still on him, clinging wetly to a pair of chiseled hips. Despite the urge to shield the fire on her face, finding that hiding was even more embarrassing, she raised her chin defiantly and looked him square in the eye.

"Maybe we did."

How a person could be so comfortable in their own skin to walk out of the water like a god, Sarah didn't know. To look at her like they were the only two people in the world, and feel no shame, but triumph, in how someone else's eyes were examining his body…

With a drop of her stomach she snapped her eyes back to his face. It was like the tunnels all over again…

"Hmm," he returned thoughtfully. Sarah knew her gaze, appreciative or otherwise, had not escaped him. "I'm afraid you've complicated things, Miss Williams."

While some part of her was strangely affronted at the honorific, another was incensed at the accusation. Who was he to serve blame after all the things he'd done to complicate _her_ life?

"Me?" she heard herself splutter. Just barely she kept "What about _you_?" from escaping afterwards.

There was a soft pitter-patter of water in the silence that followed. It ran off of his form in little rivulets, collecting in puddles and turning the soil into dark, squelching mud. "We aren't comrades, if your behavior and opinion of me are anything to go by," he continued as if he hadn't heard her outburst. "We cannot have been lovers," she heard fuzzily, "for I have never tasted a mouth so sweet."

Sarah felt her back bump lightly into the trunk of the tree the same moment she belatedly noticed that Jareth had been advancing, and she had been retreating. Her hands grabbed blindly at the rough bark, for stabilization of body or mind, she wasn't sure.

Jareth tilted his head to the side, almost innocently. The shade of the tree made the surroundings somewhat cooler, and she wondered how he wasn't freezing, dripping wet as he was.

He did not stop his advancements, though Sarah found herself alarmingly trapped by the tree, bushes, and brambles. In all likelihood her chest, fluttering a little with quick, shallow breaths, was going to explode.

When he stopped, and she stubbornly kept her mouth shut, he finished, "If all this is true, what are we to each other?"

His expression was infuriatingly neutral. There was nothing to read there now except a naked, child-like curiosity. No desperation, no fear. She understood, then, what must have happened. Unknowingly she had introduced herself not only to his present state of mind, but his obscure past as well.

And something in him remembered her.

Very, _very_ dangerous, indeed.

Her existence was serving as an emotional tie between the two times, something foreign and yet familiar. A bridge. And there wasn't any fixing it at this point.

_Double shit._

Jerkily she spun her back to him, the fear of discovery fresh and acute again. Sarah grabbed her dress in a fierce tug and a flash of coarse grey, and snapped, "Nothing."

"_What are we to each other?"_ his voice echoed in her head.

Biting her lip, hard, she started trudging her way back up the bank, her shoes tucked into the crook of her arm. Her feet ached pointedly, but she wouldn't waste her time stopping to put them back on.

_Enemies, adversaries…_

"This morning I was the end to your means for answers, and now you can go back to your throne and set my friends' lives straight. We're even," she flung over her shoulder, trying desperately not to run.

"Sarah…"

The grip on her elbow made her stumble and turn. Reluctantly she pivoted to face him fully, staring hard at the water beading on his collarbone. It wasn't until a few of his fingers gently took a hold of her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his own, that she dared look up.

"_What are we to each other?"_ The words were circulating in her head ceaselessly, pivoting and barraging her from all angles.

_I don't know anymore_, she thought in defeat.

"I do not know what damage our past has inflicted upon you," he was saying, "or what part I had to play in it. Eventually those pieces will fall into place. But right now…" His voice had taken on an unlikely softness. Sarah wasn't sure if she liked it there or not, but she _was_ sure that they were standing so close he was getting her wet. "Truce?"

Her look was surprised, if not outright dubious, and she searched his face for any hint of betrayal. Any glint of the game he knew how to play so well. But if his motives really were only to have some sort of anchor in this place he could no longer remember, wouldn't an alliance be to her advantage in the long run?

Jareth looked a bit shocked when Sarah thrust a hand forward to shake.

"Truce."

The trees seemed to rustle, adding their own chuckles, as he tilted his head back and laughed. "Are you certain," he teased, "that you would not like to seal our accord with a kiss instead?" She drew her hand back with a yank. "I don't very much care to witness the effects of your ring a second time."

Starting, she glanced down to her hand. To be sure, the iron ring was still resting on her finger, looking deceptively normal.

"Uh…" she stuttered intelligently, childishly moving her hand behind her back. "I didn't mean…"

He was walking back into the water.

"No, no," he waved amusedly over his shoulder, "that's alright." Smoothly he turned again and extended his other hand. "We'll simply have to shake with the opposite."

Sarah eyed his dripping fingers grimly for a second before stepping down to the pebbly edge where water met bank. Hesitantly she leaned forward, trying to stay as much out of the icy water as possible, and barely managed to grip the tips of his fingers. Jareth made no move to close the distance between them but pumped her hand up and down good-naturedly.

"See? Not so bad," he laughed. "In fact…" His grin was fast becoming a smirk. "Far too easy."

The Goblin King gave a mighty tug and Sarah screamed bloody murder as she fell into him. Her towel abruptly dropped, dress and shoes scattering over the surface of the river. Even though his hands caught her expertly around the waist, the extra weight was too much and she toppled, landing with a splash in the bitter water. Sarah floundered for a moment, not sure which way the air was, but two strong hands found her and pulled her upright.

"My dear, I apologize," Jareth panted with laughter, "but that was just too irresistible…" The water on his face was indistinguishable from his tears of mirth. "Oh, forgive me," he choked, but she didn't believe him for one second.

"You ch-cheating…bastard!" she shivered, her teeth chattering unpleasantly with the cold. Angrily she pushed away the dark fall of hair plastered to her face. "Truce m-my ass!" Her skin was numb as she tried to wriggle her waist from his hands, and the fingers that she pushed ineffectively against his slick, muscled chest were red and aching.

Every laugh echoed down the length of the river as he scooped her into his arms and started wading to the shore. "Here, little water witch," he said, dumping her gently on the bank. Still partially in the water, he crouched by her side to take in her rumpled form. Hurriedly Sarah stood and pulled the clinging undershirt down as far as it would go, crossing her arms over her chest. "The truce begins now," he continued quite seriously, and Sarah was alarmed to find herself a bit intimidated by his kingly tone. "As a peace offering I'll give you my towel," Jareth nodded to a large rock a few feet away, "since I so selfishly cost you your own."

A forlorn expression contorted Sarah's mouth as she looked down the river and watched her belongings bob away on the current. Then her mouth twisted again and she grabbed the towel, securing it about her small frame. Something akin to smug satisfaction graced his features at her defiant stance.

"You're welcome. I'll see you at camp, after I've finished this bath."

And then he turned, dived into the river, and did not resurface. She watched the softly undulating water for a minute, expecting him to pop up a few feet away, but he never did.

"Maybe he drowned," she muttered to herself. "Nasty trick…"

Grumbling, she began picking her way back to camp, but stopped short when her feet met uncomfortable ground. There were too many leaves and twigs and rocks poking into her delicate soles. When she turned again Sarah saw Jareth quite a ways down river, no more than a speck. Hesitantly her eyes flitted to where his boots were resting beside the rock.

She smirked.

* * *

The clock gave another halfhearted _tick_. In the shadows a figure surveyed the hand circling the face, waiting expectantly, but it refused to move again. This did not perturb him. It seemed that he had expected the hand to stop.

Of course, the resting hand was the one used primarily for counting down the days left in the bargain.

What he did not expect was for the hand counting down the seconds, delicate, fragile things that made up those precious minutes, hours, and then days, to sputter and choke.

He frowned.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The hand started moving anew, twitching deliberately down the numbers from thirteen, which rested at the top, clockwise to twelve, eleven, and so on.

He winced fleetingly, ever pained by his backwards clock. He loathed watching the numbers waste away, almost insolent in their task.

Reordering time was one thing, but intentionally watching it waste away? The thought bordered on blasphemous.

The cold, mechanical object reminded him of an hourglass with gears and springs. He'd thought himself so advanced in its creation, so efficient and cutting, and yet it had caused more trouble that it was worth.

But, he reasoned, what's done is done. And the ticking clock showed no more signs of slowing.


End file.
